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There is simply an order
In which the thoughts seep into my brain
And on top of all, I think
I must stay miserable or it all fades away
I'm backed in a corner to create aural alchemy
It just gets harder when I'm running circles in my ever-present hate

I bring this upon myself
It's the only way I can write these spells anymore
I need a sense that I'm just about to fall right off the world

There is simply an order
In which the words fall onto the page
And most all, I think
A bird helps conjure what the people want to say
I'm backed in corner to create something moving
But it just gets harder when you're not moved by anything